For British Hair Only
by GhostOfBambi
Summary: A lot of dialogue, a lot of nonsense, and some semblance of a plot, as our hero James Potter sets out on a rough road of painful humiliation. Reeks slightly of Pushing Daisies.


**Author's Note: Revised and edited as of July 2012.**

**For British Hair Only**

"I've got it!" cried James Potter, a tall, hazel-eyed, black-haired young man who wore wire-framed spectacles, played as captain and Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and was only about half as handsome as he actually considered himself to be. "That's the scent of natural berries! Daphne Glimmergloss's Shimmering Shine Hair Potion, I believe!"

He released a handful of his friend's hair and leaned back against the bark of the oak tree beneath which he was lolling, and closed his eyes contentedly.

"How do you know which shampoo I've been using?" cried Peter Pettigrew, in confusion. Peter Pettigrew was a small, mousy-haired, overly nervous boy with a pointed nose, who was round as a shiny penny and almost as interesting. At the ripe age of seventeen, he looked years younger than his three closest friends, even though he was the oldest of all of them. "Have you been searching through my belongings?"

"Of course I haven't! I'm merely an extremely gifted detector of scents," said James arrogantly. James Potter was known to be arrogant. Qualities and talents he possessed in abundance, but sadly, the ones that did merit pride, such as his intelligence, good humour, and generosity of spirit, were sometimes stupidly ignored in favour of the ones that weren't very important at all. One example of such would have been the pride James took in his ability to eat three steak and kidney pies in as many minutes.

This baseless self-adoration for no real reason would continue for another number of months, but we shan't delve into that matter now.

"I didn't know you could do that. That's really cool!" said the admiring Peter, also known as Wormtail.

"I know it is," said James, who was occasionally referred to as Prongs by his closest mates.

"What's going on?" came the voice of Sirius Black, a young man who was sometimes known as Padfoot, and James Potter's best friend. Sirius Black was just as tall and just as black-haired as his best friend, although unlike his best friend, his eyes were grey, his features chiselled, and he was far, far handsomer than James believed him to be. Indeed, Sirius Black was far handsomer than even James Potter himself.

James Potter was not aware of this fact, but even if he was, he could at least feel consoled in the knowledge that he possessed a winning natural charm, which as all intelligent girls know, is much more likely to win the affections of eligible young ladies than a pretty face, and that Sirius did not.

"Padfoot, come join us under our tree!" said the aforementioned Gryffindor Chaser to his aforementioned best friend, who possibly could have played on the Quidditch team if he felt like it, but had never attempted to do so, mostly because he considered organized sports - and rules - to be a waste of his precious time.

"Who said it was our tree?" Completing this group of strapping young men was a young fellow named Remus Lupin, also known as Moony. Remus was not as handsome as Sirius, nor did he consider himself handsome, as James did. Nevertheless, sandy-haired, brown-eyed Remus Lupin was a very pleasant young man, in appearance and personality both.

"Sirius has pissed on it enough times. Consider it a marked tree, as it were," said James grandly. As Sirius could, on occasion, transform into a large, shaggy dog, this was not quite as shocking a statement as it might have been in other social groups.

"Indeed. This tree's a gift, from me to you," Sirius grinned, and dropped to the ground beside Peter. "Don't ever say I'm not a cracking friend, Moony."

Remus made a face that signified his displeasure. "Of all the excuses you've ever made up to avoid buying us Christmas presents, this is the worst." He sniffed. "And the most unhygienic."

"Right, Moony. You run around once a month as a dirty great wolf, and you expect me to believe you've never pissed on a tree before?"

"Sirius, you won't believe what James can do!" Peter cried, anxious to share the news that only he could be impressed by. He was largely ignored, except by James, who always liked to talk about himself.

"If I ever did piss against a tree," Remus was protesting, "I wasn't in my right mind at the time. That's not a fair argument to make."

"Minor details. You've pissed all over this tree, you grubby bastard."

"Shut up, Sirius."

"Yeah, Padfoot, shut up," said James, feeling like it was about time that somebody paid him some attention. "Don't move an inch!"

"Prongs, what're you-" Sirius was cut off as James seized a fistful of his dark, elegant hair and plunged his nose into it.

"I've got it!" he cried, seconds later. "That's the smell of muck, wet dog, and countless nights of desperate wanking!"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Sirius hissed, and glared at Peter as if this shocking turn of events was somehow his fault.

"James is trying to fool Peter into thinking he can tell what kind of shampoo someone uses just by sniffing their hair," Remus explained, rolling his eyes, which hinted at wisdom uncharacteristic of someone his age. "Peter's hair smells like berries, so Prongs correctly guessed that he uses berry scented shampoo."

"Oh, right," said Sirius, and tossed a handful of grass at his best friend. "Amazing talent. How did you know I washed myself with essence of rabid dog and week-old cum?"

"Wet dog, not rabid dog," James corrected.

"Well, he knew _exactly_ what shampoo _I_ used," said Peter, eager to promote the talents of his darling Prongs.

"That's because he steals it on you, you twat," said Sirius, with a laugh.

"What?" Peter squeaked, delighted.

"You steal Peter's shampoo?" Remus inquired.

Everyone stared at James. Remus looked curious, Peter flattered, and Sirius merely appeared bored. James went beet red, and floundered helplessly for a moment.

"It makes my hair shiny," he eventually explained, quietly defiant.

"You're a fucking woman, Prongs," said Sirius.

"It never makes _my_ hair shiny," Peter mumbled.

"No! I'm not – it's the oils in the shampoo or something. They work better with dark hair!"

"Ooh la la."

"You could use some in _your_ filthy mop and all, tosser." James glared at his best friend in an effort to make known his hurt and displeasure. Sadly, it had no effect on Sirius. "You smell like a bloody tip."

"Only because just I had to go rooting through the fucking forest in the muck for the quill you dropped yesterday."

"You said you didn't mind!"

"You were in the forest?" said Remus, who seemed to be of an inquisitive disposition. "Why?"

"Where do you think I've been for the past hour? Writing bloody poetry in the dorm like Prongs?"

"What quill? Why did you make Sirius look for it?" said Peter, who possessed the regrettable ability to completely miss the point of every conversation. However, he was a very good ballroom dancer, so it all evened out in the end.

Remus was shocked to discover that James wrote poetry. "You write poetry?"

"He's… got a better sense of smell than I do! Shut up! I don't!" James grew red in the face, tried to kick his best friend in the shin, missed spectacularly and hit his toe against a rock.

"Yes you do," continued Sirius, with all the placidity of a young man who finds relaxation in the emotional torture of his friends, no matter how dear those friends might be to him. "You write poetry about Evans."

At the age of thirteen years, six months, two days and fifty-eight minutes, James Potter had suddenly been struck with the realization that he was hopelessly infatuated with a girl named Lily Evans, who up until that time he could only confess himself mildly interested in, due to the fact that she became enjoyably enraged whenever he took it into his head to pick on her in the common room. However, upon seeing Lily Evans bestow a hug upon Severus Snape, her now former friend and James's arch-nemesis, it had occurred to James with a violent throb of utter jealousy that Lily Evans was, in fact, the most beautiful girl in the world, and that her future belonged with him. However, Lily Evans, a girl with long, dark red hair, emerald green eyes and an owl with a name she had not chosen for it, had been most displeased when James had flown into an envious rage and attacked Severus Snape with an excellently placed Jelly-Legs Jinx, and never returned the sentiment. In fact, some would even say that she had loathed him with a passion bordering on hatred. This aforementioned passionate loathing had continued for the next two years, eleven months and seven days, and although they had since begun to interact in a polite and civil manner, it would be prudent to assume that the two were not exactly the best of friends.

Nonetheless, and much to his own pain and distress, James Potter had remained faithfully under the spell of Lily Evans for three years and four months, which brings us to the present time, which also happened to the very day before Lily Evans turned seventeen. James had spent copious amounts of money on a present for her that he did not intend to give. However, he did not wish to inform his jesting friends of this fact, for he feared that they may question his masculinity.

"No I don't!" he cried, protesting Sirius's poetry claims. It was a lie, as James did often hide in his dormitory and write poetry about Lily Evans. It was not very good poetry, but James was under the impression that it was.

"Yes you do, I've seen you," said Sirius, sniggering. "'Oh Evans, your hair is red and I'm filled with dread. Come shag me in my lonely bed.'"

"That's not how it goes. Shut up."

"Anyway," Sirius continued, "The bloody git was wandering around in the forest yesterday, probably looking for inspiration for his next ode to Evans, and he lost it."

"I still can't believe that you write poetry," said Remus, chortling to himself.

"You're a fucking wanker of a best friend, Padfoot."

"No I'm not. I have a blister on my arse the size of Hogsmeade because I accidentally walked through some nettles looking for that fucking quill. The quill that I found, by the way."

"You did?"

"Yes, I did." He held out the fateful quill. "Here, now Evans won't kill you for losing it. No need to thank me."

"I wasn't going to."

"Wait, that's Lily's quill?" said Remus.

"You mean you _stole_ Lily's quill?" said Peter, shocked to find that James's penchant for stealing did not only extend to his friends, but to his classmates. "You must be stopped!"

"No, I didn't!" said James hotly, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief. "She let me borrow it from her in Charms yesterday, only I lost it and I wanted to give it back before – oh piss off, Padfoot, and stop laughing at me. You're lucky I don't hex your balls off."

"Speaking of piss, right? Where'd you think would be the most embarrassing place you could wet yourself?" said Sirius, who had tired of conversing about Lily Evans, whom he wasn't very fond of. He would be, at some point in the future, but Sirius was a man who lived in the present, and maintained that this was why he'd failed his Divination O.W.L. James had gotten an O, but that was only because he'd flirted with the examiner.

"Right. That's it, I'm leaving," said Remus, and stood up.

"Why?" said everyone but Peter, who was busy trying to dislodge a piece of bread that was caught between his teeth.

"I'm not sitting here for the next hour talking about how crap it would be to wet yourself in public. I've got a brain."

"You're right, Moony," agreed James, and sprang to his slightly overlarge feet. "These boys are disgusting. Where are you going?"

"Erm... into the school?"

"I'll come with you."

"He wants to divulge the secrets of his poetry to you, Moony," snorted Sirius. "He wants you to hold his hand and tell him everything's going to be alright."

"That sounds mildly better than talking about piss," Remus reasoned.

"_You_ haven't seen his poems yet."

Peter burst out laughing at Sirius' amazingly funny slight.

"Oh sod off, both of you. I don't know why you're laughing, either," James cried, pointing an accusing finger at the boy he called Wormtail. "You write love letters to Helena Hodge!"

"_Prongs_!" cried Peter, mortified.

"Leave him alone, Sirius," Remus scolded, wagging his finger at the dark, mysterious youth.

"I didn't say anything!"

"It wasn't a letter, it was a scathing note!" Peter persisted. Everyone ignored him.

"Apart from telling all of us that he writes poetry about Lily Evans?" Remus continued.

"SHUT UP!" James expectorated "She might hear you!"

"She's not here, Prongs," said Peter, wiping his friend's saliva from his face.

"That's not the point. _He's_ supposed to be my best mate, but he's nothing but a traitor who smells of shit."

"Better than smelling of berries," said Sirius. "What self-respecting man smells like _berries_?"

"Hey!" cried Peter, insulted.

"This doesn't include you, Peter. You've got no self-respect."

"Oh. Right."

"I already told you, it makes my hair shiny. And if you haven't noticed yet, Padfoot, people like my hair. Especially women. Women like Evans," he added, ruffling his beloved locks.

"Evans hates your hair. She's always moaning at you to stop messing with it," said Sirius.

"She doesn't mean it."

"Yes she does."

"She doesn't," James insisted, wallowing in his own delusion. "I know Evans, alright? She and I have an understanding. I know how she really feels about me. It's all a cover. She loves my hair. The moaning is just to hide her undying love for me. Her eyes are ablaze with lust whenever she sees me. It. My hair. Both of us."

"Maybe she's got a sty," suggested Peter. Sirius laughed. It was the proudest moment of young Peter's short life.

"Right, fuck off, the both of you. Come on, Moony, we're leaving."

"James, you don't honestly think that Lily's eyes fill with lust whenever she sees your hair?" said Remus the reasonable, reasonably.

"Fine. I'll go on my own, then. You're all wankers. Goodbye!" He tossed his head in such a feminine way that he blushed like a poppy whenever he thought about it for two weeks afterwards, and marched off.

"You forgot the quill," Remus called after him.

Angered, he hurried back and snatched the quill from Remus' hand. "Give me that. Thank you. You're all wankers. Goodbye!" He turned and dashed off towards the school.

"Oi!" cried Sirius just as his best friend reached the castle door, anxious to assist James in his affairs of the heart. "If you see Evans, tell her that her eyes are green, she looks like a queen, and when she rejects you your heart sinks like a submarine. It might give her a hernia!"

Angered by his best friend's repeated taunts, James decided that it would be best if he informed Sirius Black of his displeasure, so upon wrenching the door open, he turned around and called out to him, politely asking the boy he sometimes called Padfoot to vacate the premises of the school.

"FUCK OFF!"

However, it was at that very moment that the very girl Sirius Black had been teasing James Potter about walked out of the castle door that he was still holding open.

"Potter?"

"WHAT N- now?" What began as an angry shout quickly transformed into a pitiable whimper as James turned back around and realized that Lily Evans, the young woman who for so many years he had been hopelessly and desperately devoted to, was right behind him. James let go of the door handle with a squeak, was immediately dismayed, and wished that the ground would open up and swallow him whole. "Oh, Evans! Fancy meeting you here, eh?"

Many body language experts maintain that when one person is attracted to another, the body sends out small signals, perhaps some small action, or subtle differences in appearance, which serve to indicate that person's desire. Considering this theory, it is worth noting the change that had come over Lily Evans in the few seconds it took for James to turn around and notice her. Her pupils had dilated quite considerably. The fingers of her left hand, which had previously been lying by her side, were now threading through strands of her long, dark red hair. These were miniscule changes that presumably went unnoticed by even Lily herself. It can be assumed that what she _had_ noticed, however, was the rapid quickening of her heart, and it can be assumed that this caused her some embarrassment. It can also be assumed that, due to this embarrassment, blood from her body had rushed to her head, which in turn caused her cheeks to grow considerably redder, a process more commonly known as blushing. If James had been a body language expert, or indeed, not preoccupied by his equally rapid heartbeat and reddening cheeks, he might have noticed some of these changes and deduced, correctly, that Lily Evans was quite attracted to him.

However, James Potter was not an expert in body language, he was a flustered adolescent boy, who was under the impression that Lily Evans could not be less attracted to him even if he placed a dead raccoon on his head and wore a gaudy gown.

He valiantly tried to think of a conversation topic that would not require him to flirt with Lily, as she normally became quite irritated whenever he did. The quill he had clenched in his hand would have been an excellent starting point, but in his nervousness, he had forgotten about it. Therefore, there came an awkward silence which seemed to last forever, although if he had counted, he would have realized that it only lasted eight and a half seconds.

"Isn't that my quill?" she said suddenly, staring down at his hand.

"Oh, er, yeah." His fist tightened compulsively around the quill. "Yeah. I was just going to find you and give it back. And here you are, looking gorgeous! As always!"

Following this little speech, James handed the quill back to the pretty Gryffindor, inwardly berating himself for breaking the vow he had made only seconds earlier, and wondering if he was about to be reprimanded. However, instead of reacting angrily, Lily Evans looked up at him and smiled, and smiled so enthusiastically that an outside observer might have thought that she was really quite pleased. The smile was hurriedly dropped a moment later and replaced by a look of confusion. This was followed by another few seconds of awkward silence, made even more awkward by the fact that both James and Lily were staring at one another and reluctant to move.

Eventually, however, Lily proved her mettle as a valiant Gryffindor by breaking the silence with another question. "Are you alright, Potter?"

"Of course I'm alright." James was significantly surprised, and wondered why the girl he affectionately called Evans was asking him this question. "Why are you asking?"

"Oh, it's just that you sounded upset just now," she said, shaking her hair in front of her face, almost as if something mortified her greatly and she wished to hide from him.

"I did?" he replied, greatly confused. James always felt a wide array of emotions when in the presence of Lily Evans, but upset was hardly ever one of them. The girl was like a walking ray of sunshine. Even following rejection he could feel nothing but excitement and pleasure in her company.

"Er, yeah, you did. You know, about twenty seconds ago? You were shouting at your friends and telling them to-"

"Oh!" he cried, comprehension hitting. "You mean… that? That was nothing. They were just taking the piss out of me, you know, because of, because of, eh…"

He could not complete the sentence, unable to tell the girl he had so long worshipped from afar that she had inspired poetry in his heart, some of which he had written down on paper and considered to be quite good, for fear of the disdainful rejection he had so often accepted from her.

"Because of what?"

James detected a genuine note of concern in her voice, and his heart, which was already beating faster than was the norm, started to thump harder and harder, so hard that he felt it may have been attempting to push its way out of his chest, so he hurriedly blurted out the first word that came to mind.

"Shampoo."

He immediately felt emasculated, almost as if his manhood, which he had once lovingly named 'The Commander' at the age of fourteen, had been cut off and beaten into a pulp.

"Shampoo?" she repeated, and smiled again. The sunlight shone upon her face and made her eyes look twinkly, and she was so very, very beautiful.

"Yeah. Sirius was taking the piss out of me because he found this, erm, berry scented shampoo that I use. Sometimes."

"You use berry scented shampoo, Potter?"

"Infrequently, but yes. It's not because I'm girly, or anything. Of course I'm not. It's the oils in the shampoo, or something. They're good for black hair, like mine, and they make it look shiny." James was ashamed. "I'm not ashamed!"

"I don't see why you should be."

"Precisely. Anyway, I only use it occasionally. Not very often at all. Never, really. I don't even have shampoo like that. It probably doesn't exist. It doesn't exist. Sirius is a dirty liar. You shouldn't listen to him when he tells you things like that."

"Right."

"Right."

For the third time, a silence fell between the love-struck boy and the girl named Evans, who was equally infatuated, but tried hard not to show it.

"It's nice," she said.

"What's nice?"

"Your hair. Your hair is really nice."

James was overcome with happiness, and unable to speak, feeling as if the moment in which Lily Evans gave him this innocent compliment was the most wonderful he had ever experienced in his life, which at this time had spanned exactly sixteen years, ten months, two days, three hours and twelve minutes. He would continue to be of this opinion for another nine weeks, four days and twenty-two hours, at which point Lily would thank him for keeping her company by the fire and kiss him on the cheek. However, that is a story for another day, so let us continue.

"Yeah," Lily continued, having apparently realised that James was not going to respond to her. "You know, with the… oils, or whatever. It's shiny, you know. It looks, it's very… you know…"

"Nice?" James suggested, ruffling up his hair. Lily's eyes filled with lust at the sight, and James wondered if she was developing a sty.

"Yes! Exactly!" she agreed, and she sounded delighted, as if they had simultaneously discovered electricity. She immediately appeared to regret this enthusiasm. "Well, I'm going to go. Now. Thank you for my quill, Potter."

"Yeah, sure," said James dazedly. "It was no-"

"Bye!" she cut him off hurriedly, and dashed down the castle steps. James watched her run away with eyes that were filled with hope and a renewed love for life. His lower lip trembled, his knees were set a quiver, and all of a sudden, the knowledge of what he must do struck him like a lightning bolt striking a tall and somewhat attractive tree.

"I think I'll go wash my hair."


End file.
